Street Art
by mecaka
Summary: Rapunzel is working for the city of Corona painting over graffiti. She makes friends with a guy painting "Flynn Яydeɿ" on the orphanage wall. Modern-day AU. Mentioned OCxRapunzel (kinda). EugenexRapunzel. A collection of one-shots. (Better cover image on tumblr)
1. Never an Honest Word

**Chapter Summary: Rapunzel reflects on how she came to be here. Meanwhile, a man calling himself Flynn Ryder tries to insert himself into her life.**

**AN: First of all, I want to state that according to the Disney Wikia, Tangled supposedly took place in the 1780s. I would love to have made it earlier, but I'm going to go with that as I have no knowledge of the history of fashion or architecture.**

**As is the norm here, I do not in any way own the rights to Tangled. I also don't own "Viva La Vida" by Coldplay. Please don't sue me. I have to pay for college, I can't afford a law suit.**

**Also, this is a one-shot. There will be additional parts later. Feel free to leave a song you think will work as a future chapter, either in a review or through PMing me!**

**Thanks to luckynumberblack for feedback on this before it was posted.**

**_Never an Honest Word_**

**—-—**

_I used to rule the world_

_Seas would rise when I gave the word_

_Now in the morning I sleep alone_

_Sweep the streets that I used to own…_

_—-—_

Rapunzel shut her alarm off two and half seconds before it started blaring. It wasn't hard to beat the clock, seeing as how she hardly slept anymore. Only about ten hours a week, and most of it from dozing on the bus. Cars had always been able to put her to sleep.

_A man in a suit doing his best to keep the brand new Model-T from bouncing… Laughing so hard at the way the wind blew his hair around that she could feel tears slipping down her cheeks, the wind blowing them into her blonde curls… Waking up when he failed to avoid a particularly large bump in the road, and realizing she'd drifted off leaning against his shoulder… Moving the next week, because she was afraid of getting too close._

She sat up, sighing and stretching, allowing the reminiscence to fall away. She played with the ends of her now short, choppy, dark brown hair. She changed it every time she started over. It was hard, sometimes. She never had any friends, because she couldn't afford to lose anyone else.

She threw off the light comforter, swung herself out of bed, and tugged a pair of beat-up jeans out of the narrow chest of drawers standing beside her bed. As she pulled them on, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror—_a huge four-poster bed, half-hidden by thick drapes; a vanity covered in the latest cosmetics; a small stool, where the seamstresses took measurements and altered the always-gorgeous clothing she wore; a bookcase inlaid in the wall, filled with the most wonderful books; a mirror taller than her father, reflecting a princess with long, golden hair in a beautiful, dark purple ball gown, the dress that no artist had been able to truly capture the beauty of…_

She shook her head, pulling herself back to the present. It was no good dwelling on that time. The princess in the mirror had disappeared a long time ago.

Forcing another drawer open, she pulled out the light green "City Repair Team" t-shirt. She turned as she slid it on, finding the shoes she wore to work: they had once been gleaming white tennis shoes, but were now a strange, muted gray, covered in flecks of neutral tones of paint.

She grabbed the canvas bag with her ID, work badge, wallet, bus pass, and cheap, pre-paid cell phone stowed inside, and left her tiny bedroom.

She was renting her living space from an elderly lady who had no use for it and three others like it in her home. Her roommates didn't bother her, and she didn't bother them; it was a good un-relationship.

She grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl in the kitchen, a still-warm muffin from a basket, dropped the assorted change she'd forgotten about the night before into the jar labelled "Fruit and Muffin $$" in heavy, black lines. Ever since moving in she had wanted to draw various fruits and muffins on the label; it was wrong for something in what should have been a home to be so stark and impersonal.

She bit into the apple as she walked two blocks to a bus stop, and waited the usual three minutes for the #8 to arrive. Climbing aboard and swiping her pass, she made her way to a seat about halfway towards the back.

—-

She hated her job, sometimes. Sure, spray-painting cuss words on the sides of buildings without asking was a little rude, but it didn't make the bright colors and funky lettering any less beautiful. They were just trying to express themselves, and she didn't see any harm in , it was one of the few jobs that didn't require an education or license, that was through the government, that paid decently enough for her to live off of, and let her work outside.

She loved her job, at other times. Getting to travel around the city she hadn't seen in more than two centuries was a great pastime. Many of her memories of the town were thrown off due to new buildings and roads, but many places she would recognize no matter how much the scenery changed: the plaza—_where she and Joseph had celebrated every lantern festival—_ now home to a cheap pizza parlor, a Chinese take-out, a hookah bar, and a run-down arcade; the palace—_where she had been born and had spent the first four decades of her life—_now a museum dedicated to her family and ancestors; the bridge, no longer pedestrian friendly—_where she had first made a break for freedom_. And working for the city gave her discounts at the museum and on bus passes, which was a huge plus. She'd gone to the museum her second week here, and been surprised to discover her wing of the palace had been mostly untouched, and almost entirely devoted to her story. She hadn't stayed long after that, feeling uncomfortable and not wanting to be recognized, even if no one would believe she was… herself.

Today, she had been assigned to repaint the wall around the city children's home. It was a short walk from the office, so she didn't bother carpooling with anyone driving that way, or getting back on the bus. As she walked, she planned out her day: an hour of sanding, some repairing, lunch, repairing any other damage, and repainting for the remainder of the day. She tried to remember where she could get food in this area, but couldn't remember what was close and inexpensive.

As she came up to the first section of wall she would be working on, she noticed a figure in dark clothes, a hood over his head, concentrating hard on the graffiti he was finishing. She was pretty sure it said "Flynn Ryder"—_a devilish smile and a charming manner… "Perhaps we should go somewhere more quiet?"… a mussed bed and a missing jewelry box… Her parents trying to find out why, and herself unable to answer—_even though the character from the old stories was called "Flynnagan Rider", and the r's were backwards. She stopped and watched quietly, fascinated by the clean strokes he made with the aerosol can; she could tell he was completely absorbed in his self-assigned task.

Unfortunately, her job was to paint over it all.

She stood patiently, waiting for a good time when he was between strokes to alert him to her presence. He had lowered the can to his side and tilted his head, possibly contemplating on what he should add to the piece, when she spoke up.

"Y'know that's not how it's spelled, right?"

She was glad she had waited until he wasn't spraying paint; it would have gotten all over her when he spun around, arms flailing out in surprise.

"What the— Oh, look-y here, the Paint Police have arrived," he commented sarcastically, eyeing the logo on her shirt.

Her mouth twisted, part of her finding his comment funny, the rest of her just agreeing with him in an ironic way. "Yeah, I know… I hate having to paint over some of this, especially something as good as that," she replied, nodding to the tangle of color over his shoulder.

He reached up and threw his hood off, and she failed to fight back her gasp. "_Joseph?!_"

One of his eyebrows shot up. "Who?"

She blinked a few times and brought a hand to her mouth. The man before her looked _exactly_ like her late husband. But, obviously, he couldn't be; it wasn't possible. After a long pause, she finally was able to say, "Sorry, it's just… You look like someone I knew. A really long time ago."

"You don't really look old enough to have a 'long time ago'," he replied, winking at her flirtatiously.

She forced herself to ignore the intense deja-vu and flirt back. "Well, maybe I'm older than I look."

He just smirked.

She shifted her feet, suddenly feeling awkward. "So… I kinda need to…"

"Oh, right! Sorry… I'll just grab my—" he started to say, gesturing to a duffel bag filled with spray cans lying a few feet away "—You're not going to report me, or anything, right? I really don't need my parole officer hearing about this…"

She shook her head. "You were finished and gone before I got here. Didn't see anything."

The smile he shot her now was more genuine. "I'm Flynn, by the way."

It was her turn to cock an eyebrow. "Really? You're last name isn't Rider by any chance?"

The hand not holding a can of paint reached for the back of his neck. "Well…"

"Whatever. I'm Rap— Rachel," she said, biting her tongue for almost giving him the one name she couldn't use.

He moved over to the duffel bag, placing the can he was holding back inside of it and zipping it up. He swung it gracefully over his shoulder, and turned back to her. "It was nice meeting you, Rachel."

"You too, '_Flynn_'," she said, grinning at him.

He chuckled. Then he strolled off.

She looked back at his freshly finished painting, set down her own duffel bag full of supplies and sighed.

—-—

_… I used to roll the dice_

_Feel the fear in my enemies eyes_

_Listen as the crowds would sing_

_"Now the old king is dead, long live the king!"…_

—-—

_Rapunzel sat on the throne, the crown on her head feeling heavy after a long day of wearing it. Negotiations were so boring; unfortunately, they were also necessary._

_She glanced to her right, seeing that her husband was completely absorbed in the speech the foreign dignitary was giving. Feeling her gaze, his eyes flicked to her. His right elbow went to his knee and the hand met his chin as he leaned forward. His finger tapped four times on the side of his jaw. 'They plan to betray us.'_

_She smirked to herself. This was the only fun thing that ever happened during a meeting. Joseph sat back up suddenly, eyes darkening, as he called out whatever point in their plan that had bothered him. She backed him up, picking up the details as the debate heated. Had they seriously thought that _she,_ the future Queen of Corona, would allow their soldiers to be posted here? (Except, she would have agreed to everything they'd said simply because she wasn't paying attention—thank God for her husband and his never-ending focus)_

_The dignitary fought back as they verbally cornered him, insisting that Coronan soldiers would be allowed on their soil, that it was a mutually beneficial arrangement for times of war. Eventually, beads of sweat began making their way down the sides of his face: he knew he was in the wrong, and he was worried now._

_She loved the feeling of being in absolute control. She'd never had much control over her life, but when she got it, she relished in it._

_Unfortunately, getting that high in this way also made her lots of enemies._

_—-—_

_… One minute I'd held the key_

_Next the walls were closed on me…_

_—_—-—

Rapunzel hummed a tune she'd forgotten how she'd learned as she walked briskly up the steps. She was going to give the palace museum another try, as she hadn't finished reading all of the signs last time.

As she wandered the halls, lost amongst the throngs of tourists, she admired the quality of the restoration. It was much closer to the way she remembered it than she could have ever expected. And it was much better than it had been those last few years she was here.

She went back into her old rooms, forcing herself to resist the urge to run. They were almost exactly as they were before the… She couldn't even think of that time. She moved methodically from sign to sign, reading about her own life, staring at the photographs of the palace before it's restoration. Those photographs were extremely close to the way the palace had been the day she'd run away.

There was a video showing in what had been a small parlor. She went into the room, and watched as historians discussed the revolution, the allegations that the Princess had been immortal, un-killable. They analyzed records and accounts from those who had access to her. They read aloud pieces from her mother's diary; she hadn't even known her mother had kept one. Artists discussed how she had been made into a goddess in literature and art. Works she was completely unfamiliar with were flashed across the screen, herself the main subject: a glowing, beautiful, vengeful queen, all-powerful in her own nation. Writers discussed the difficulty in finding 'factual' information on her, that much of her childhood and gone undocumented, like something was being kept secret. Many speculated that she must have been sickly, but that the image she gave to the people was that of strength, hiding her illnesses through the use of decoys and coverups.

She sat there, in the creaky theater seat, appalled at what she was seeing and hearing. She squeaked—nearly screamed— in fright when a finger poked her arm.

-—

_… Shattered windows and the sound of drums_

_People couldn't believe what I'd become_

_._

_Revolutionaries wait_

_For my head on a silver plate_

_Just a puppet on a lonely string…_

_—-—_

_Apparently, her people hadn't been happy with a monarchy._

_The countries she had made her enemies had decided to help._

_They were eating dinner, and a group of masked men burst through the doors. She and her family had been rounded up and brought to the throne room. All of the guards that hadn't joined the rebellion were executed then and there._

_Two weeks later, her parents had followed. One of the terms had been that they leave the country with Rapunzel and Joseph; they had refused._

_Two months later, they had slipped her and Joseph poison, wanting to get rid of them quietly after the uproar that the people had caused at her parents' executions. She didn't find out he had died for another three days._

_The leaders were angry. They needed her gone, but stye couldn't make a fuss._

_So they told the people she was to be exiled. They had an armed man escort her to the bridge. He had tried to drag her underneath it so he could kill her quietly. She managed to get away, and had taken off running, her dirty, golden hair flying behind her, her lungs burning, her legs aching. She was free._

_And she was alone._

_—-—_

Her head snapped to the left as her body slid right; her weight shifted as she prepared of an attack. Flynn put his hands up in surrender. "Sorry!" he whispered. "Didn't mean to startle you… Saw you sitting here and wanted to say hi."

She hissed back, "You almost gave me a hear attack!"

"I know, I'm sorry."

She rolled her eyes, and then smirked. She tried to return her attention to the video, but she kept glancing at the man sitting next to her. He had a baseball cap pulled low over his forehead, shielding his eyes. Both times she'd met him, he'd been so guarded, despite how open he'd acted. She wondered what secrets he was holding.

The film finished with a questioning conclusion: "As her death or execution went undocumented, it is very likely that she managed to escape and start a life elsewhere. And, assuming the rumors of her immortality are true, she could still be alive today; a goddess hiding amongst mortals, moving through our world differently than anyone else. Who knows who among us might have met the Lost Princess of Corona…" It was pretty melodramatic, but sort of ironic in how accurate they were. She wondered who had wrote those final few lines.

She and Flynn stood, and slowly made their way out of the theater. It was crowded with tourists and families toting small children, babbling about the princess. A group of red-headed little girls suddenly surrounded her, insisting that—if her hair had been blonde and much longer—she looked _exactly_ like the princess. She laughed nervously and thanked them, insisting that she couldn't _possibly_ be the princess: she lived in a tiny apartment and painted walls for a living! They giggled at her, then scampered off to find their parents.

Flynn smiled at her. "They're right you know."

Her brows furrowed and her smile quirked. "What do you mean?"

"You do look a lot like the princess. Maybe she had a kid in secret, and you're a long lost descendant."

"Or they were right and she is immortal. But she got amnesia and that's why I don't remember being a princess," she said, not entirely sure why she was allowing herself to be sucked into this. It happened every couple decades: she'd meet someone bearing a striking resemblance to Joseph and she couldn't seem to help herself. They didn't always act like him, which helped (usually), but Flynn acted quite a bit like him… Or at least how she remembered him.

He laughed along with her, and she tried to think of reasons to brush him off, to get out of the conversation and away from this man; she didn't want to get hurt all over again. Unfortunately, he suavely steered their conversation to the fact that it was noon. "I know this great sushi place over near Market Square (_the fairs and festivals that had centered there… Dancing through the evening… Getting drunk and meeting a handsome man with brown hair and matching eyes, a lovely smile and kind words)._ You wanna go try it?

Her mind was thinking, _No, I really need to go home and get some things done._ She replied with, "That sounds absolutely amazing."

—-—

_She lived through some of the greatest times in history. And some of the worst. She almost died in London during the Blitz, nearly got arrested when she was in the States during prohibition, got lost in the winding streets of amazing cities like Venice, Paris, and Istanbul._

_She would have been insanely happy with the sudden change in her life, if she hadn't been lonelier than ever._

_This was so much better than ruling an unforgiving nation, trying to appease unhappy people. But it was so much worse than being happy with her family._

_—-—_

_Oh, who would ever want to be king?_


	2. Losing Grip

_**Losing Grip**_

**Rapunzel doesn't want to get hurt again. The guy she met is too nice for his own good.**

—

_Clear blue water, high tide came and brought you in_

_And I could go on, and on, and on, and on, and I will—_

_Skies grew darker, currents swept you out again_

_And you were just gone, and gone, and gone, and gone…_

—

She'd had sushi before, but she hadn't remembered it ever tasting so good.

She'd gone on dates since… But she hadn't felt this happy before.

What was different this time?

—

_He was a charmer. That was the first thing she had noticed about him. He was here for the Festival (__**her**_ _Festival), and just gotten off the boat not an hour before; did she care for a dance?_

_She smiled prettily, placed a dainty hand loosely on her waist, twisting her hips just enough to make her skirts swirl. She was going to be married off in the next few months, to a man she wasn't meeting until tomorrow; what did it matter if she wanted to enjoy herself now? She had learned since her mistake two years ago, after all. No one would know she was herself tonight._

_He gallantly offered his elbow and led her to the center of the square, getting into position before the next set. When the music started, she learned that he did not know these dances, so she laughingly led him through his steps, pointing out others who were performing the dance without even thinking. When the music drew to an end, he kissed the corner of her mouth._

—

Three weeks later, she and Flynn were dating steadily. She still didn't know his real name.

It really shouldn't have bothered her so much, considering she hadn't told him _her_ real name. But, it did. Because of what his fake name _was_.

She hated thinking about the man behind the legend.

It was also _really_ weird trying to date someone without giving too much away. She had started out terrified of being found and now knew that no one would believe her story.

—

_She wouldn't know it for years, but the whole night had been one, giant, glaring, terrible, stupid cliche. At the time it had felt like fate, meeting (and falling for) her future husband the night before they were scheduled to meet each other._

_Of course, they never did tell their parents __**that**_ _particular story…_

—

The first time he took her to a bar, he asked her how old she was. She gave the usual answer: twenty-five. He laughed and said she looked like she was eighteen. "You sure that they'll let you in?"

"I've never been turned away before."

He laughed again. It was so much like Joseph's it hurt.

They were admitted without incident. After they sit in the back corner of the bar and place their orders—she surprised him by ordering something strong; she'd spent a lot of time trying to forget in the early days, and had built up a tolerance—he leans back against the booth seat and says, "So, I'm curious: you know quite a bit of Corona better than I do, and that's saying something considering I spent many of my developing years trying to keep ahead of the truancy officers, but other times you seem as lost as a tourist… Are you from here and only remember bits and pieces, or…?

She twines her hands in her lap. At least this one won't really be a lie. "I was born here, but moved away when I was young. My mother and a good friend went on walks with me a lot, but we usually stuck to the same areas, so I remember some places really well. But a lot can change in… seventeen years." There. That sounded pretty believable.

"I get that. I left for a few years after I turned eighteen, and was surprised to come back and find things had changed."

She nodded, but wasn't sure how to respond now. She was pretty sure he was expecting her to mention something specific that had changed, but there were so many things, and most of them had changed a century or two ago. Why had she decided doing this was a good idea again?

He cleared his throat, shifting a little, clearly feeling awkward about her abrupt silence. Her eyes trailed down to her lap, her hands still twisting nervously. The thumb and index finger were rubbing circles around her left ring finger, aching for the wedding band she had been forced to pawn off.

—

… _In silent screams_

_In wildest dreams_

_I never dreamed of this…_

—

_The first few years, she was plagued with nightmares. She became dangerously insomnious, causing hallucinations even worse than the dreams: at night she was unable to make a sound, but during the day she couldn't control the screams._

_The people around her—not her friends, just __**others**_—_were worried and terrified. Why would a sweet young woman suffer from such horrifying visions?_

_It was awful, seeing her parents murdered over and over and over again. Sometimes she watched him die, convulsing from the poison. Other times, she saw them killing him, lying to her about how he had died, making her think she was immortal. She would take time after these to remind herself why that was a foolish notion: what could they possibly have to gain?_

—

The first time she let Flynn walk her to her door, he tried to kiss her goodnight. When he leaned in, she ducked and sidestepped. She really wasn't ready to find out if he kissed and/or tasted like her dead husband.

He blinked at her slowly, a small crease forming between his eyebrows. "You okay?"

She nodded quickly. "I just… I don't… I'm not…" She trailed off not sure how to express herself.

He nodded, mostly to himself. "I'll call you tomorrow, alright?"

"I'm sorry," she said, when he was almost back on the sidewalk.

He froze, shaking his head before he had even fully turned back to her. "Rachel," he sounded almost heartbroken, "there's nothing to apologize for." He turned back around and continued down the walk, to the street, and down the road. Her eyes were rooted to where he'd been, a prickling sensation signaling the tears that were beginning to form.

—

… _Tossing, turning, struggled through the night with someone new_

_And I could go on and on, on and on_

_Lantern burning, flickered in my mind for only you_

_But you're still gone, gone, gone…_

—

_Decades passed and the nightmares faded. She tried to move on, but it was hard when she both needed to stay away from other people so no one would notice she didn't age __**and **__needed people because women didn't just travel the world alone in this day and age._

_She met a few men, fewer whom she actually liked in some capacity. She was walking through the park with one of them one day when she saw a man who had the same hair as __**he**_ _did. He was walking a dog, and there was a young, blonde woman on his arm. The other girl smiled up at him and he laughed at whatever she had said._

_Rapunzel fought to keep her head in her own control, refusing to panic or fall into a hallucination. Her beau tried to help, but he didn't understand what was wrong; __**no one**_ _would ever understand her ever again._

—

… _This love is good, this love is bad_

_This love is alive, back from the dead…_

… _This love left a permanent mark_

_This love is glowing in the dark_

_These hands had to let it go free…_

—

_That very first night, she had shared more with a perfect stranger than she ever thought she could with the man she would be meeting the next day. Despite knowing that her parents' marriage had been arranged and they had fallen in love somewhere along the way, she couldn't see that happening to her. She loved every bit of freedom she ever got, and was sure she could never love the future king of Corona because he wouldn't be her choice._

_But then he had been._

_They had pretended not to recognize each other, just smiling slowly, making their parents believe that they were being polite and a little more. She could practically __**hear**_ _the tears forming in her mother's eyes as she gave him her best curtsy. Later, when they were alone, they laughed and laughed about the irony of it all, unable to be mad at the other for trying to enjoy their last night of freedom._

—

_As times changed, she stopped trying to find someone._

_Not that she had been trying to __**find **__someone, but she stopped letting people get close to her._

_Letting someone close would only hurt her in the end, because she would outlive everyone. And no one could ever possibly understand the struggles she faced on a regular basis._

_She was completely alone._

_And part of her was relieved._

—

She let herself into her room, still completely thrown by what Flynn had said to her. She kind of understood his sentiment, but honestly—while it might not be her _fault_ that she's so screwed up—she is sorry. She's sorry that she can't be what he wants her to, that she's going to end up leaving him _because_ _she can't lose someone else_.

She chucked her bag at the open closet door, and practically ripped her shirt off. Her left hand found the three-inch scar on her side and then she was tugging her pajamas on, forcing herself to hide from her past. She stretched out on her bed and stared at the ceiling, terrified of falling asleep and getting stuck in the nightmares.

She lay there, finding pictures in the texture on the ceiling, and couldn't help but think to herself: _I'm sorry that I've fallen in love with you._

—

… _This love came back to me_

—

**AN: So, NaNo didn't exactly... work. I literally forgot that it was happening on the first weekend, and after that I was way too busy with school things. :/  
But, I am still working on this! This chapter was a lot shorter (just over half the length of the last one), but it felt done. Mostly. To me. And my beta (luckynumberblack). I'm still not 100% happy with it, but I wanted to post. :)**


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